THE LOST EXORISTS

Warning: This story may contain content not suitable for some readers. It includes scenes of blood, violence, negativity, and spiritual horror. Consider carefully before reading. If you do not enjoy such content, you may skip or leave kind feedback. Please do not insult the author, the work, or the characters.

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Nguyen Linh Chi jolted awake. Her heart pounded violently, each beat hammering against her chest like war drums. A sharp pain struck her temple, sending the world spinning. She clutched her head, bent forward, struggling to keep her balance in the suffocating darkness.

The air was heavy, thick with the stench of mold and decay. From somewhere far away came the sound of weeping, distant yet chilling, like the cries of someone buried deep beneath the earth. Cold sweat slid down her neck and along her spine. Linh Chi suddenly realized she was standing in a place utterly unfamiliar, a realm of endless night with not a single trace of light.

Only hours earlier, she had been in her little bakery, surrounded by the warm scent of butter and milk, savoring a freshly baked cake. There had been no sign, no warning. Yet now, everything was gone, replaced by coldness and emptiness like the void of death.

She stepped forward slowly, each movement dragged back as if by some invisible force. The chill that enveloped her was not the kind born of weather, but the cold that radiates from corpses, seeping into her very bones. It felt as though she was descending into a vast pit, while a gate silently closed behind her, severing all return.

“What is happening to me?” she whispered to herself, but no answer came.

Suddenly, a heavy hand gripped her shoulder. Linh Chi flinched, her body stiffening. A damp, cold breath touched the back of her neck. A broken, gasping voice whispered into her ear.

“Linh… Chi… help… us…”

She froze. Something wet and thick dripped onto her back. The metallic smell of blood filled her nose. A thought flashed, ghosts? Impossible. She had never believed in such things. Surely it was just some cruel prank.

She shook the thought away. No, she did not believe in ghosts. It had to be a joke. A foolish attempt to scare her.

She drew a deep breath, steadying herself. Then she turned sharply, ready to expose whoever was playing tricks on her.

But it was not a trick. It was Nhat Minh.

His face was pale as paper, drenched in sweat, his eyes filled with panic and exhaustion. There was no blood as she imagined, but his weak hand clung to her desperately, like a drowning man grasping at the last lifeline.

Behind him, another figure leaned against his shoulder, limp and barely breathing.

Linh Chi’s breath caught as she recognized the face.

“Sơn…?”

Bui Minh Son, her beloved cousin. Now he was ghostly pale, lips cracked, his shirt soaked with dried blood.

“Chi… help… Sơn…” Nhat Minh stammered, his voice hoarse and broken, his breath ragged, as if every word drained the last of his strength.

Before she could move, Minh collapsed to his knees, laying Sơn on his side. With trembling hands but practiced skill, he tore his sleeve and pressed against the wound to stop the bleeding.

“Chi… come help me!”

She stood frozen, fists clenched, unable to step forward.

“Chi!” Minh shouted. “You were a doctor!”

The words sliced into her mind like blades. Blinding surgical lights… the sudden silence of a heart monitor… a mother’s wail of grief… All the memories flooded back at once.

“No… I can’t…” Linh Chi backed away, her voice shaking. “I swore I would never touch medical tools again…”

Minh looked up, his eyes fierce.

“There’s no hospital, no one else but you and me. If you don’t save him… he will die.”

Silence pressed in. Blood soaked through Sơn’s side with every second. In her head, the beeping of a broken monitor and the acrid smell of antiseptic came rushing back, tightening around her chest.

Minh’s hands paused for a moment, his voice softer. “I know what you went through. But Chi… it wasn’t your fault. Now is the time to forgive yourself.”

She drew a deep breath, fighting the memories. Around them was only darkness. No bandages, no medical kit, no hospital room. Only three people, one unconscious, another trembling on the edge of collapse.

“…Tear me a strip of clean cloth.”

Minh nodded quickly, relief flashing across his face. He ripped a piece of his shirt and handed it to her. They worked together in silence. Though her skills were rusty, instinct guided her. Linh Chi checked his pulse and breathing, still clumsy, but focused. Minh pressed on the wound while she tied the cloth tightly around Sơn’s abdomen.

No bandages, no medicine, no light. Only blood, sweat, and the pounding of their hearts. Sơn groaned faintly as they bound the wound. His breathing steadied, though his face remained pale.

“Minh… Chi…?”

“Yes, we’re here,” she answered softly.

Minh gave a weak nod, collapsing onto the ground. Linh Chi checked Sơn again, then looked up and gave Minh a silent signal. Both men were exhausted, but in that moment, in the suffocating dark, it felt as though they had won, not only against death, but against the shadows within themselves.

Just as Linh Chi leaned down to check Sơn’s wound again, the ground began to tremble, faintly, as if something moved beneath the earth. The air thickened, dread crashing over them like waves. The cries that had once been faint now rose louder, wailing like spirits chanting in the underworld, words unclear but heavy enough to steal a heartbeat.

All three tensed. Minh held Sơn upright as best as he could. Linh Chi searched the shadows where the sounds came from. The space shifted, ghostly lights flickered, shadows writhed, as if monsters were about to break free.

Suddenly, a pale light flared in the distance. The cries fell silent, cut off as though by an unseen hand.

From the mist, two figures appeared, moving not with steps but gliding across the ground. They radiated an invisible weight with each movement, drawing the air tight around them. Their garments were strange, glimmering faintly with ancient patterns when touched by the light.

Fear crawled down Linh Chi’s spine. She gripped Nhat Minh’s sleeve tightly. Minh struggled to stay steady, half-carrying Sơn, his body threatening to give out. Sơn forced his eyes open, straining to see. They felt like prisoners awaiting judgment.

The two women stopped a short distance away. One was tall and graceful, her eyes sharp enough to devour. The other, smaller, bore such sternness that Minh dared not meet her gaze. They did not react with surprise or judgment, only quiet observation, before exchanging a look of sorrow.

The woman on the left lowered her gaze, her voice deep and solemn. “Another one… sacrificed.”

The words froze everything. A chill gripped the three of them. It was only the beginning.

Sơn stirred, frowning, his breath still heavy but steadier. Strangely, the sight of the two women brought him a sense of familiarity. Despite the pain, he forced himself to stand a little straighter.

“Chi… Minh… those two… They look… so familiar…” His voice was hoarse, but insistent.

Both Linh Chi and Minh turned toward them. Minh squinted into the faint glow reflecting from their garments, and his breath caught. His lips parted, whispering names he thought he would never speak again.

“Thien Truc… Anh Thao…”

No one spoke. The silence tightened.

Because Le Thien Truc and Huynh Anh Thao were not strangers. They were old friends, once part of their group. At this moment, they should have felt relief. Perhaps even joy.

But joy was impossible.

For Truc and Thao had vanished two years ago. Everyone believed they were dead.

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Originally written in Vietnamese by author Nhu Y, now updated in parallel